


Bloodshed

by rhythmicroman



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Death, Fredbear is Golden Freddy, Gen, Gore, Happy Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Sort of? - Freeform, The Bite of '87, a lot of tears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 03:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhythmicroman/pseuds/rhythmicroman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He accepted it. He was a monster. He was a murderer. He deserved his fate.</p><p>But Spring refused to. He saw the eyes of an innocent. He saw the tears of the broken.</p><p>He felt the body inside him. He felt it moving and dying, slowly, slowly.</p><p>He felt it laugh and shake, as it pointed and mocked the children before it.</p><p>Snap.</p><p>Click.</p><p>And so started the bloodshed.</p><p>|-|-|-|-|</p><p>STORY ARC 1 - Thicker Than Blood (Prologue - ???)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodshed

**Author's Note:**

> Written at 1 am. Don't judge.  
> Prologue is short.

He was a monster.

He blinked his blurred eyes and watched wearily as his companion, his only family, continued to screech and cry. As he beat his fists against the walls and screamed at them, as he cried for justice and mercy and wondered, how was this just?

"It's not your fault," he remembered whispering, but his voice was lost behind the broken screeches of his best friend. He felt the blood on his teeth harden and set and wished he had the heart to whisper out his apologies.

The screaming weakened and he heard the clanging thump of another body beside him.

"It's not your fault," he repeated, gazing into the hazel eyes he'd known so well. They were blackened with oil and dry dirt, and water ran down their golden cheeks like rivers.

"It was never yours, either." The hoarse, worn voice replied. It was wispy and soft, like he remembered. It wasn't rough and angry anymore. "It was theirs. They should be locked away, not you."

Greenish golden thumbs wiped watery tracks from beneath his eyes, and he felt that if he could breathe, he'd be sobbing.

"They're children," he sobbed, "children aren't monsters."

"They were no children." Spring's voice came back, assertive and cold. He pulled the bear's head forward to rest it on his chest. He ground his teeth and spat the resulting sparks at the cold metal door, cursing the men behind it.

"Children aren't murderers."


End file.
